


Honne and Tatemae

by combustspontaneously



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Arranged Marriage, F/F, Femslash February, Political Campaigns, WOO, but when is he not, in the closet!lydia, jackson is a major douche, lydia will one day rule the world, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combustspontaneously/pseuds/combustspontaneously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not that we don’t love you, Lydia -” everyone in the trailer nods very quickly with the exception of Erica, who Lydia tries to fire daily. “- it’s just that you don’t come off very approachable. I mean, you do come from a very prominent, very, very wealthy white family. You’re not married, you don’t have kids, and as far as the public’s concerned you may as well just be a – a robot with good ideas.”</p><p>Lydia needs to win this race for California Senator - it's her dream. Hell, at this point, it's her right. But to win she needs to beat Peter Hale, and to do that... she needs to get married.</p><p>Maybe she'll get lucky and get assassinated first.</p><p>It wouldn't even be that bad if it weren't for his crappy personality and her new hot head of security, Allison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honne and Tatemae

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Japanese, meaning the difference between your true desires and opinions and what you must say publicly.

It’s almost too hot for anyone to be outside right now, and at the moment there are a hundred people milling around languidly on the grass, throwing expectant looks at the empty stage in the center of it. It’s ridiculously patriotic and tastelessly draped, Lydia thinks idly as she sits in her campaign bus, tapping her pumps impatiently as she waits for her hair and makeup to be finished.

As if it wasn’t already perfect in the first place.

“Come _on,_ people,” she snaps. “My constituents are _waiting_.” She encompasses the crowd with a dramatic sweep of her arms and Stiles sighs.

“They’re not dying off, Lydia,” he says exasperatedly. They’re all huddled around her in her campaign bus, everyone tense as they finish up preparations for the campaign rally.

Which should’ve started five minutes ago.

“They could be,” she retorts, the statistics already coming to her. “Heat stroke is especially prominent in California -”

Stiles just sighs and leaves the trailer, letting her reel off statistics as Isaac, in charge of hair and make up, finally finishes the last touch on Lydia’s braid.

“Okay people,” Lydia snaps, nearly jumping out of her chair and straightening her shoulders as she puts on her best Winning Votes smile.

She strides out ahead of her team, and like a wave, the crowd builds up an ecstatic cheer. There’s an excitable hum in the air today, and Lydia can feel it coming off in waves.

She is so great at her job.

Stiles is at the podium in his nicely tailored blazor (Lydia insisted at the start of her run that he put aside the graphic t-shirts with references so obscure she wasn’t even sure Scott - the dorky intern - got them). “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado,” he turns to grin at her. “Lydia Martin.”

She waves to the crowd, smiles at the applause, and takes a place at the podium. Behind her a large banner deplores the audience to ' _Vote Martin for Senator 2014!_ '

“Hello, everyone, I just wanted to -”

“I love you, Lydia!” someone cries from the audience. The surrounding people cheer along good-heartedly, and she pretends to duck her head abashedly and laughs.

This happens a lot at these things. She fights off the urge to walk into the crowd in her gorgeously expensive heels and drop-kick him. It’d have to wait until _after_ she won the election.

“Well, I love you too,” she says. “In fact I love every single one of you, and this beautiful state called California…”

When she finishes up her speech, it’s punctuated by a rowdy roar of applause and cheering, and really, Lydia could get used to this. She shakes about a hundred (79, to be exact) hands, kisses a dozen babies and poses for pictures for an hour afterwards, her perfect makeup never smudging.

She counts it as a success, nearly collapsing in the scratchy, eye-sore of a couch in the bus after grinning one last time at the crowd and waving good-bye.

“Well _that w_ as fun,” she sighs, tossing her blazer onto the couch beside her.

At the wheel, Boyd carefully pulls out and they’re well on the road before Lydia looks up from her phone and realizes that everyone’s being suspiciously quiet. She frowns and does a mental tally.

“What?” she demands, and suddenly everyone is very absorbed in what they’re doing. Cowards. “Kira, tell me what’s wrong.”

The poor girl snapped her head up, eyes widening. “Uh – um,” she stammered.

“Don’t pick on the interns, Lydia,” Stiles chastises, dropping into the seat in front of her. She narrows her eyes, and he, now invulnerable to such attacks, just rolls his eyes. “The latest polls came in during the rally.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, keeping herself composed despite the miniature riot in her chest. “So? Did my approval rating drop?”

Stiles frowns, an exaggerated turn of his mouth that makes Lydia’s stomach drop. He picks his words carefully. “Not exactly. Gary Dale dropped from the race this morning, which means...”

She knows what this means before he explains it, and she can already feel her hands shaking. “All the votes that were going to him are now going to Hale.”

Her mouth twists as if she’s just sucked on a lemon. Peter Hale is the sleaziest, most crooked politician in all of California.

And he’s winning.

Beside her, Scott puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She fights the impulse to put her head in her hands. Instead she stands up, paces the length of the bus twice before settling back in her seat, eyes wide. “How much?” she asks, regretting the way her voice croaks. “How much is he winning by?”

“24.6 percent,” surprisingly this comes from Isaac, who twists his mouth regretfully. “But hey, at least you get the male vote.” Her head snaps up, and his eyes quickly move, well, upwards to hers, and she kind of wants to kill him a little.

“I will fire you.”

“Yep, got it,” he says, cheeks growing red as he turns quickly on his heels to sit next to Boyd in the passenger seat.

Erica tries to stifle a laugh under her breath and Lydia tries really hard not to fire her either.

Instead, she focuses on Stiles, who is, as ever, balancing his laptop and a coffee. “What do I need to do?”

He looks up in surprise. “Lydia…”

“Why am I losing? I have better policies, I’ve never been accused of solicitation of prostitution or drug abusing – unlike him, I might add – and quite frankly, I’m very lovable.” Stiles winces. “What? Like I’m not?”

“Not exactly,” he says hesitantly, quickly adding, “Not that we don’t love you, Lydia -” everyone in the trailer nods very quickly with the exception of Erica, who Lydia tries to fire daily. “- it’s just that you don’t come off very approachable. I mean, you do come from a very prominent, very, _very_ wealthy white family. You’re not married, you don’t have kids - as far as the public’s concerned you may as well just be a – a robot with good ideas.”

Before Lydia can come up with a good response, Scott adds on.

“Not to mention sometimes you talk about stuff no one knows about,” he says sheepishly. “It’s a little patronizing.”

She shoots him a look, and he shrugs apologetically. “I could fire you, you know.”

“Not to mention you threaten to fire us all the time,” Erica says pointedly.

“And you always look like you’re being asked to swallow burning coals whenever you have to kiss a baby,”  Isaac says with a grin.

“And that one time you had a homeless man relocated off the property before a campaign rally,” Boyd e _ver so helpfully_ chips in from the front seat.

“I get it! Thanks, _Scott,_ ” she snaps, glaring at him. He gapes, whipping his head back and forth.

 _Whatever. Take the blame, you started it_ , she pouts inwardly. “Fine, okay, I’m too unapproachable or whatever. How do we fix it?”

Stiles hesitates, worrying at his bottom lip.

Lydia’s eyes widen. “Oh, hell no.”

“Well you did say you wanted this more than anything,” Isaac points out, and _really, why does she keep him around?_

“Not helping,” she snaps, turning back to Stiles with wide eyes. “There has to be another way.”

He frowns regretfully. “I’m afraid not, Lydia.”

She buries her head in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. Really, _when did this become her life._ There’s only one thought running through her head as they pull into the large driveway at her house (well, okay mansion – there might be some truth to the whole wealthy thing) that doubles as the campaign headquarters.

 _I have to get_ married.

Maybe she’ll get lucky and someone will assassinate her first.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this to my darling Madeline, who edited this very kindly for me. Inspired by/for: http://kirayvkimura.tumblr.com/tagged/twbingo


End file.
